


oh, we made quite a mess, babe

by subtlyhaught



Series: i don't wanna miss you like this [2]
Category: Descendants (Disney Movies)
Genre: F/F, anyway heres part 2, i wrote the ending just now and i literally dont know what it says, its one am
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-17
Updated: 2019-09-17
Packaged: 2020-10-20 09:34:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20673176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/subtlyhaught/pseuds/subtlyhaught
Summary: Maybe the most painful bit was that Evie knew Mal meant it, and she left her anyway.





	oh, we made quite a mess, babe

**Author's Note:**

> im literally delusional as im posting this i wrote and rewrote the ending over and over because my mind would wander while i typed and id write things that made no sense at all, so if anything is in first person i am so sorry i didn't mean to.
> 
> also this is part 2!! based off i almost do by taylor swift. pray my french slang is correct.

That’s when the feeling sunk in.

The same one Evie felt when she had got on the plane for France six months ago.

The burning _ what if I just turn back _scratching at her throat, sitting in the back of her head. It would’ve been so easy to just miss her flight. To take a cab back to her and Mals apartment and say she had made a terrible mistake. 

She got on that plane though. She moved to Paris. She didn’t look back.

Still, there were moments where it almost killed her to keep herself from going, from calling Mal for the first time in months, from just packing her bags and booking the next flight to New York City. Moments like this one. 

_ “C’est une coll__èg__ue d’a’ta?” _ Audrey, her roommate, had asked. The brunettes phone had been shoved in Evie’s direction, clutched in a perfectly manicured hand. On it, an instagram page was displayed, though the profile was private. _ “Elle m’a donner une ‘like’ il y a un moment,” _ Audrey continued, shaking the phone for emphasis, preventing Evie from reading the username. _ “Son ‘at’ est en Français, mais je la connaisse pas.” _

_ “Arrêt ça,” _Evie scolded, grabbing Audrey’s wrist to keep it still, enough to read the username of the girl who was apparently stalking Audrey.

_@mal.heureuse. _

_ “C’est unique, j’pense,” _ Audrey hummed, taking the phone away from Evie once more, drinking in the profile herself. She hadn’t noticed how Evie had gone frigid, how her eyes remained glued to one place while Audrey rambled on a bit about her _ gold hair _ and her _ cute nose _ and _zut_ _ , ses yeux sont verdes! _

“Excuse me,” Evie had said then (in English, which was rare for her nowadays), cutting off Audrey’s little speech about how attractive her ex was. 

Not that Evie could blame her. It wasn’t like Audrey knew who Mal was, or Evie had any control over who Audrey was attracted to. It just… that burning, awful _ what if _feeling was back again, right when Evie had thought she had finally put an end to it.

She left Audrey in a stunned silence, only feeling a little guilty for not explaining what was happening. She figured, though, if Audrey really wanted to know, she could always come up to the roof and ask.

The roof was Evie’s go-to spot. Or, technically, it had been Mals, back when they lived in a shoebox apartment in New York, and they had to squeeze through the padlocked bars to gain roof access. Mal said heights calmed her down. Evie just grew accustomed to the unexpected thrill of breaking the law. 

She and Audrey lived in a townhouse with a flat roof and a fire escape in the backyard, as the town house was four stories high, and the basement and first floor would get rented out. Getting to the first escape was a bit tricky, as the only access to it from the third floor (the one with Evie and Audrey’s bedrooms and offices) was the window in Evie’s bedroom. The squeeze through her open window sill was almost reminiscent of New York.

Almost.

(Really, that just made things worse.)

The New York skyline didn’t compare to the view from the Parisian rooftops. That’s something Evie would stand by forever. She had always found New York too cluttered. The buildings had no space to coexist, let alone along with the bodies of the people who shuffled through the city on a day-by-day basis. There were too many; too many hearts pumping blood, too many lungs expanding and contracting, too many devoted dreamers. If the city was dead silent it would still be too loud. 

And it may have taken 23 years, but Evie had found she didn’t need to be in New York to chase the dream of crafting her own fashion line. Paris did her just fine. 

She really only regretted it every day of her life. 

But she mostly had green eyes to blame for that. 

The sunset always made her think of Mal, even six months after the mess of it all. How the blonde used to crack all their windows open - a grand total of four - and breathe in deep, standing in the middle of their living room. It’d be a minute, maybe two, of just the silent basking. Drinking in the glow of the sun’s goodbyes. And then, like clockwork, Mal would say; _ I need to get my paints. _

Mal used to always paint Evie in sunsets; in blues and pinks and purples. She used to tell her Evie was her favorite kind, when they laid in bed and the sun kissed Evie’s skin as though it was timid. It made her glow, made her feel present and special and real. Mal used to reach over and glide her fingers across Evie’s naval, never really touching her, as though Evie was the altar and Mal had been fashioned to worship. It was love at it’s purest, holiest. No church could look upon these kinds of moments and bestow sin upon them. They spent their Sunday mornings on their knees, with bedsheets between their fingers and the sun dripping off their lips, wrapped in the delicacy of their own kind of prayer. Mal would tell her that nothing could compare to the kind of sunset she was. Nothing could even come close.

Maybe the most painful bit was that Evie knew Mal meant it, and she left her anyway. What was she supposed to do when the love of her life couldn’t let go of everything she thought made her whole, when Evie knew that living in the space between parallels would only reduce the two of them to halves?

There were some days Evie couldn’t believe she had actually left. There were other days where she doesn’t even give New York a fleeting thought. Then there were days where all that ran through her head was _ MalMalMal _and there was absolutely nothing she could do to stop it from happening. 

It was days like those where Evie wondered if Mal hated her. She figured she must - how many people forgive the lovers who broke their hearts? Especially the ones who avoided their calls, their texts, their emails. Mal had stopped trying to contact Evie four months ago, and Evie figured the silence is what she deserved. She shouldn’t expect more than she was giving. She shouldn’t hope Mal would show up to her door, begging her to come home. It wasn’t Mals fault Evie had left, and Evie knew as much. 

But the mere prospect of answering the phone one of those times Mal called, and having to face _ another _goodbye at the end of it? She just couldn’t do that. She couldn’t let herself break over Mal’s scratchy, long distance voice, and she definitely could not go another six months without hearing it again, if that were to happen. Mal had always been like a drug to Evie, and you know what they say about addicts; once an addict, always an addict. That's why recovery was so hard.

The sun dipped below the tree line, and Evie lost herself in the sky. She weighed the pros and cons of calling Mal right now, finding neither side particularly compelling. 

Of course, she knew, logically, if given the funds and legitimate option, Evie would be back in New York by morning. That wasn’t disputable, especially considering how often Mal plagued her dreams nowadays, looking every bit the enchanting witch the brunette had fallen for. Sometimes, Evie would dream that she’d wake up with Mal, beside her once more, as her nails traced along her jawline, and she hushed; _do you wanna try this again? _

She almost said yes. Just like she almost called.

Almost. 

She hoped Mal would. She hoped she could find it in herself to answer. She hoped and she hoped and she hoped.

Against reason, maybe.

Still, Evie turned on her phone, popped open her contacts and scrolled down to _ Puff The Magic Dragon. _Maybe she _should_ call, maybe she should take the first step. Mal was never really one for being the bigger person. If this was something Evie wanted, something she _needed, _she had to do it herself. It was only fair. 

The brunette swallowed thickly, and pressed her phone to her ear. 

Maybe six months didn't seem so long in New York. 

**Author's Note:**

> @ egrimhildes on twitter and @ eviesgrimhilde on instagram


End file.
